


To few it'll be grief, to the law a relief

by Dylanobrienisbatman



Series: 800dylanobrienisbatman [13]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Angst, Bank Robbery, Dying together, Epic Love, F/M, Love, Murder, Partners in Crime, Survival, us against the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dylanobrienisbatman/pseuds/Dylanobrienisbatman
Summary: Murphy meets Emori one cool October afternoon, and six months later they go on the most epic run from the law that America had ever seen. But their crimes weren't what made them legend, at the end of it all, it was their love.(Prompt: Angsty Memori "- its not fair, that i need you more than you need me". Inspired by a Memori Bonnie and Clyde mood board made by the-most-beautiful-broom on tumblr!)





	To few it'll be grief, to the law a relief

**Author's Note:**

> title from the bonnie and clyde episode of Timeless

_Louisiana, May 1934_

Murphy looked over at Emori in the driver seat, flying down the road full speed, laughter filling the car between them. The laugher died in his throat when he turned his head, to a blockade of police, across the whole four lane highway. The slowed, her eyes finding him over the centre console of the car. She leaned over, grabbed his neck and pulling him into a kiss. When they pulled back, their eyes met, and he smiled. He’d live forever if he could, with her by his side. Jus the two of them against the world. He grinned wide as the car came to a stop, not even bothering to glance out the front windshield of the car. There was no escaping, he could hear the sirens coming from behind them, blocking them in. He reached out, brushing his fingers across the tattoo on her cheek, the smile on her face fully spreading into her eyes as she leaned into his hand.

“I always hoped we’d go out like this, a blaze of glory, you by my side.” She whispered, brushing their noses together.

“I wouldn’t want to live without you anyway.” He said back, lacing their other hands together between them.

When the bullets rained through the car, he barely felt it, which he was sure was from the shock, and his mind thumbed through memories of her.

_New York City, October 1930._

He stumbled up on her when she robbed him.

He was standing on the corner, waiting for a friend outside a diner, when she ran into him. Long dark hair, pulled back under a wide brimmed hat, a dark green peacoat open over a cream dress, tied at the waist, and a dark tattoo curling across her cheek, bright brown eyes twinkling. She smiled, a blinding thing that knocked him on his ass, brushing across his arm and stumbling over an apology, and he didn’t notice until it was time to pay for lunch over an hour later that his wallet was gone, and her bright smile and slippery hands came to his minds eye.

He apologised to his friend when he forked over the whole bill, and wandered out into the sidewalk, in a daze.

How had _he,_ John Murphy, been.. _pickpocketed?_

He wouldn’t see her again for six months, but he never forgot the bright smile, and sometimes at night he’d dream of her.

_New York City, April 1931_

When he saw her again, it was like a dream come to life. He saw her on the street, a floral dress brushing her calves, shiny green shoes bright against the sidewalk, hair in a soft bun, the sun shining on her like a spotlight through the trees on the street, and he felt bowled over again. He walked right up to her, standing by her side, and started talking.

“I think you have something that belongs to me.” She turned, puzzled, but when her eyes found him, she recognised him, which was more than he had ever hoped for.

“John Murphy…,” She smiled at him. “Sorry, there was a photo of you in the wallet, and your name was on the back. Assuming your name isn’t Ruth Klein, anyway.”

“No it certainly is not.”

“You didn’t call the police.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Emori. Emori Neves.”

He nodded, and then looked up, to realise they were standing in front of a bank. He turned his head and found her looking at him, grinning. She tipped her head to the door, smiling.

“Next week Thursday. Want to help?” He paused, just a moment, and then grinned, nodding.

A week later, he yanked the hood off his head and pulled her into a kiss, right there in the middle of the bank, holding 3 bags of cash himself, another 2 on her, and 3 littering the ground around them. She melted into him, and he dipped her, clinging to her waist and smiling. They stood, shooting into the air before grabbing the last few bags and running into the street, avoiding shots fired from the police and hopping into the car, laughing all the way out of town.

And that was just the start.

_Chicago, June 1932_

They were standing in an alley, in the middle of the night, over the body of the man Emori had jus clubbed over the head. They were breathing heavy, and the blood from the scratches on her neck was dripping onto the collar of her white shirt. He pulled her into him, checking over her for more injuries.

“John, I’m fine.”

“Emori, he was trying to-"

“I know what he was trying to do,” She said, buttoning the fly of her brown trousers over her shirt and straightening up, “but now he’s dead, and I’m _fine_.” She pressed her hand into his chest, letting him hold her close, pressing a kiss under his jaw.

He never used to be the type of person who would fret over other people, but any mention of danger close to her made his mind race. She watched him look her over, and smiled softly. She reached down, finding the matches in his pocket, striking one and throwing it on the body of the man they had killed.

“We can’t leave any evidence, John.” She said, when he looked over the fire.

“I know.” He said, soft.

He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, and turned their backs on the blaze behind them, off into the night.

_Somewhere in the Illinois farmlands, December 1932._

They were being held captive, in the farmhouse they had recently stolen from the owners, by the sons of the owners, who had come home for the Christmas holiday. Two tall men, with large guns, standing over them.

“Where are our parents.”

Emori looked him right in the eye and spit at his feet, which … truly wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He rolled his eyes at his girl.

“We don’t know. We showed up, they ran off. We don’t keep track of our marks after we’ve gotten what we want.” He said, toying with the hem of his shirtsleeve, entirely unbothered.

“Well you would do well to try and find out!” The shorter of the two brothers shouted, turning to his brother to converse. Emori leaned over when he did.

“They’re gonna take me first, I’m ‘the weak one’, I’m the easier mark. Play along, let them take me. Don’t let them kill you too!”

“If you think I’m gonna let you die and not fight back, you must have missed a thing or two throughout the years, doll.”

“You have to live.”

“If it was reversed, would you?” He said, eyes ernest. She froze, and he played up the moment. “It’s not fair, that I need you more than you need me, I guess.” She pinched his thigh through his trousers and glared.

“Of course not!! Of course that’s not true. I just…” She bit her cheeks, mulling her words. “Theres no point in both of us dying if we don’t have too.”

“Baby, when you go out, I’m gonna go out right next to you, in a blaze of glory.” He whispered, eyes bright. She leaned over and kissed him.

The man dragged her up, and his eyes fell to the chain that came out of her shirt, a large silver pendant swinging across her chest. She noticed his eyes and fell right into her natural con-artist ways.

“You let us go, we’ll leave the house and I’ll even throw in this necklace for your trouble.” She flirted, batting her lashes at him.

Twenty minutes later they were out in their car, coats wrapped, down a necklace. He turned to her, confused.

“You just gave them back their stuff, and your necklace? Why?”

“Ohhh John, it was all for you!” She teased. He rolled his eyes, and waited.

“I stole that necklace from an heiress in Chicago, bout two months ago. A little anonymous call to the police, with a description of the men who held us hostage and the necklace they had with them will definitely help that heiress find her missing property, don’t you think?”

He laughed out loud as the car started, leaning over the console to kiss her, deep and slow.

“Now that, baby, is a survivor’s move.” He yelled as they drove off into the night, her arm wrapped around his, leaning into him, pressing a kiss into his cheek.

_Louisiana, May 1934_

Bullets littered the car around them, and everything hurt, his whole body bleeding. He looked over, to find her staring at him. He wondered if she had been thinking of them, thinking of their epic love story.

“I don’t want to watch you die.” He wheezed, through laboured breath.

“Close your eyes John, and just,” she paused choking on the blood across her lips, “just, be here with me. We’re going out together. A blaze of glory. You and me, the greatest love story in the world.”

“Damn right we are, baby.” He said, squeezing her fingers tight in his hand, and pulling her head over to his shoulder, holding her close, and closing his eyes.

The last breath wracked through his lungs at the same time it did hers, and there they sat, riddled with bullet holes, hands laced together, the greatest love story ever told.

The story of Emori and John. 


End file.
